


they king me the love

by Theboys



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bigotry & Prejudice, M/M, Nipple Play, Self-Lubrication, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 22:05:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8507170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: Jared Padalecki is a rarity, in more ways than one. He's got a good family name and accompanying family fortune behind him, but he's also mateless and, in his father's eyes, has yet to make his mark on the world. This is his current legacy, right before he becomes a tutor for the Ackles family.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hellhoundsprey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/gifts).



> So. This was supposed to be majority porn, which, let's be frank, it is, but there seems to be a frame of plot surrounding it now, so, here we are. 
> 
> For my darling hellhound, I hope this brightens your day and includes your most sacred kinks. 
> 
> I'm also a sinner.™

This is how it begins:

  
Jared has no personal money to his name. He’s got a family that’s famous for two things, one being their upstanding name (and large fortune in suppressant research) [that’s two things, there,] and the fact that consistently, for the last god-knows how long, probably before the War of Removal, they’ve produced High Alphas.

  
Broad-shouldered and thick-skinned, and even though times have changed and Jared no longer has to be a warrior to survive, it’s placed him right at the criss-cross top of the food-chain.

  
His dad is a firm believer in producing personal Alpha-greatness. When Jared finally makes it, he can have family help.  
Incidentally, that’s when he’ll need it the least. It’s with this in mind that he travels by public-pod to meet a family that’s well known for being out of the eye of the press.

  
Henry and Nora Ackles are philanthropists and they are the proud owners of one son. Jensen Ross Ackles, age almost-in-twelve-days fifteen.

  
Jensen Ross is an omega and, although after the Removal, it carries almost (if no) stigma to it, it’s still a relatively unsafe gender to have been blessed with.  
Weaker than other sexes and four times as desirable, there’s a reason the War (and its sequels) were fought.

  
Jared’s just trying to make it through without his student loans breathing down his neck. They’re automatically reduced by more than half if you sire a child before your thirtieth birthday, and Jared’s fast approaching that.

  
He also isn’t in any real hurry to mate and push out pups. Groaning little things that he doesn't understand.

  
It’s with this mindset that he meets JR. Ackles and subsequently fucks himself up.

  
-

  
He gets the job with little to no preamble, Mrs. Ackles looks at him askance because he’s big, no two ways about it, and JR (so lovingly crooned) is probably slight, omega pale and soft.

  
Jared wants to wrap a hand around her throat and shake her, tell her that’s the way biology designed it and he can’t help his towering stature anymore than he can cut off the giant knot that’s torn six lesser ‘megas and made each and every one swear to be his child-bride.

  
Jared’s got a healthy sexual appetite and no one to feed him.

  
He’s insatiable. Can’t tell if it’s a family trait or just him, but he slip-slides and comes for at least an hour, slops his partner full afterwards.

  
Sometimes he makes them hold it in, long as they can, but mostly it’s too much and it comes dribbling back out, hot come splashing against every surface as they close slut-slick legs and gently finger his alpha-seed when they think he’s not looking.

  
Padalecki genes are in high demand, good breeders and an excellent name, and Jared thinks Nora should be fucking honored he’s gonna be looking at her kid, let alone stepping foot into this house.  
Padalecki family traditions are just that, though, and he smiles with faux-humility when she shyly mumbles about where the schoolroom is--off by the guesthouse, smaller room where he’ll be teaching.

  
Mr. Ackles nods discreetly at him, but doesn’t seem to share his wife’s..warmth. Jared knows that he’s scenting high-brow pureblood and it’s with a measure of disgust that he realizes (not for the first time) that he’ll always have a place in the world.

  
They’re showing him to his quarters--he’s to have the entirety of the guesthouse, they offer proudly, Mr. Ackles with a modicum of humility and Nora’s teeth shine laser bright in her satisfaction.  
Jared’s rooms at the Manor are around this size and he hasn’t felt the need to flaunt his wealth since he was sixteen and trying to get fat O pussy.

  
He’s still touring the walk-in closet--does he think he can keep all of his clothes in here, is this enough space, Nora whines, and Jared’s got to adjust his knot as it plumps in anger.

  
It’s beyond poor manners to do so, he’s been through all the etiquette training at Frenwell’s and he’s pretty certain that if his mother could see him right now, he’d be an embarrassment.

  
He’s just starting to shape up, bends the eight to ten inches required to appropriately shake Mrs. Ackles’ palm when he scents it.

  
He could wax poetic, like his father, something about how it smelled like honey after the first rain, or all his hopes and dreams twined into one Good Thing.

  
As it is, from this distance, it doesn’t smell like anything more than sugar, cotton-candy wisp of flavor and the almost-taste of it unleashes the smallest of small growls.

  
Her Alpha husband responds to it instinctively, teeth slightly bared in concern and Nora shrinks entirely, smells like frightened O and her sour scent masks whatever it was he thought he smelled.

  
“My apologies,” Jared says, not unkindly, “my family,” he begins with what he hopes is a congenial tone, “they’re bred with good noses. If I scent something new, I automatically respond.” Ackles accepts this as law, same as a Lesser Alpha is wont to do in his presence, but Nora smells a lot slick and she’s staring down at the carpeting, quiet for the first time all afternoon.

  
Ackles either doesn’t scent it (unlikely, Lesser or no), or he’s too well-bred to say anything about it, because he gently pulls his wife away, nodding politely at Jared.

  
“If you’d like to unpack, that’s fine. Dinner's at six, and Nora likes it formal, so don’t bother loosening your tie now,” Ackles grins, and Jared can’t help but smile back.

  
“You can meet Jensen then,” Nora adds, less firm than earlier but no less grating.  
Jared resists giving her a one-fingered salute and wonders when he became such a piece of shit.

  
-

He’s got his strange attitude back under some kind of control when he descends the stairs (elevators make him claustrophobic in the worst way) and he adjusts his tie one last time, tucks his hand into his slacks pocket.

  
The dining room is lavish, annoyingly so in that way that Jared’s accustomed to, (I’ve got money) and he finds his seat with ease, high-backed mahogany and redwood candles.

  
The chandelier is too low, he has to bend forward to avoid brushing it, and he gently tugs his slacks up so they’ll not wrinkle when he sits.

  
Ackles comes in alone, decidedly comfortable and resigned in his evening wear, and he wordlessly offers Jared Remy on the rocks.

  
He accepts graciously, because that’s what’s supposed to happen next, and Ackles looks pleased at the exchange.

  
“Nora worries about him. Our boy, I mean,” Ackles says quietly, swirls copper in the decanter. “He’s an O, ‘mega, if you will,” Ackles corrects, “and he’s our only son. Only one to term, that is.” Ackles looks pained to be saying this, but he’s smiling when he finally meets Jared’s eyes.

  
“It’s almost a blessing in disguise to only have one to look after,” Jared says carefully, sips at his own liquid. “What I would’ve given to not be one of four,” he laughs, and Ackles shakes his head in mirth.

  
“All High Alpha, I presume?” He says politely, and Jared nods in confirmation even though they both already knew the answer.

  
“Came snarling out of the womb, I hear,” Jared risks, and Ackles laughs louder this time, more real. “Are you the eldest?” He continues, and Jared’s chest is pleasantly warming.

  
“No. Second-born. My other two brothers are away at boarding school now,” Jared confirms, thinks of Jason and Mike tucked away at Frenwell so they don’t burn down the house and cast blood all over their mother’s fine china.

  
“A household of all High Alpha must be something,” Ackles says in wonderment, and Jared rubs the back of his neck in a shrug.

  
“Violence,” he admits, “and early on. The healing certainly came in handy,” he says, “but bloodstains aren’t as easy to get rid of.”

  
Ackles heals at an advanced rate, not quite so instantaneous as a High but still markedly improved than the almost snail-like pace of an O.

  
Part of the reason they’re kept so safe is because of that. If a High makes any permanent damage the O could die, almost instantly.

  
Jared shakes his head when glass-clatter brings him back, and Ackles nods toward the door. “I can scent them. Jen’s a little nervous meeting new people,” Ackles says fondly, and Jared likes him quite a bit.

  
Round Two.

  
He’s got a tighttight clip on his emotions from years of extensive training at Frenwell’s and then private lessons after that, but his own incisors rip the inside of his cheek to shreds and he’s swallowing old blood even as it knits itself closed.  
Sun-sugar it is, and it’s cloying, makes him brace his entire mass against oak.

He listens for the crunch of wood underneath his hand, not the first time he’s shattered something in confusion, and he’d like it to not be here, at his very first ends-to-meet job.

  
Jensen Ross Ackles comes in on his Mama’s arm, and that’s the last Jared will ever pay attention to the other two of them.

  
He’s dressed to the nines, translucent and omega-small, fourteen-almost-fifteen and maybe 5’0 and some small change, if he’s lucky.

  
Jared will have to measure.

 

He’s got hair close-cropped to his head, little more than a buzzcut so it stands stylishly from where his mother or a team of stylists made it artfully fall.  
His chest heaves in small gusts of air and his eyes, ocean-flecked, flit from father to mother and once (just the once) on Jared.

  
Nora pats his hand, reluctantly releases and nudges him to his seat. Next to Jared.

  
“This is Mr. Padalecki, sweetheart,” she says kindly, tone so far removed from what Jared’s been used to that he almost does a double-take.

  
Ackles catches the aborted movement and stifles a hushed laugh behind fist and glass.

  
“I told you about him earlier,” she prompts, and my God. He’s got lashes the color of caramel, stick to his cheeks like taffy when he blinks slow-soft up to Jared’s face.

  
“You didn’t say he’d be so--sso tall, Mama,” Jensen says in something that might have passed for a whisper if Jared hadn’t been High-Everything.

  
Quality comes in crystal clear and Jared knows that voice is gonna sound delicious curving around his name.

  
There’s no doubt in his mind that he’s gonna cover his dick in little-O slick but he’s perturbed by the way his knot is well on the way to popping, right underneath this table.

  
It won’t be easy to hide the swell of it, tennis-ball sized, last time the doctor adequately measured around, up to High standards and Padalecki. Then some.  
Jensen drops so soft down into the chair next to him, small feet dangling, brushing against Persian carpet and Jared’s gonna pulse cream in his pants.  
These are expensive pants, he thinks wildly, his mother has them tailored. Padalecki boys can’t find store-bought pants that fit.

  
Ackles wisely engages his wife in conversation and she reluctantly submits, Jared can scent her nervousness at the way he towers, almost 6’5 and her son, underneath him like prey.

  
Jared wants to tell her just how he plans to make little-boy-Ackles gape but he’s not a monster and he’s certainly not a slave to his nature.

  
A High Alpha has as much control as he does power, and Jared puts one giant fist over the swell of his knot and holds on tight.

  
He’s buffering his scent with every fiber of his being and his leg jitters with the strain.

  
“You’re--you’re a High,” Jensen stutters, bites down on one thick lip and Jared makes a smaller growl that no one at this table should have the senses to hear.  
Jensen’s ears pinken immediately and he reels backwards, just a touch, in his seat.

  
“Di--Did I make you mad? M’not supposed to talk about designation like that,” Jensen says apologetically, folds doll-soft hands into his lap, on top of that untouched cocklet, and Jared’s actually lightheaded.

  
Every last ounce of blood is zeroing in on his dick and he’s probably gonna be sick with it.

  
“You’re just fine, baby,” Jared says carefully, endearment bubbling out of his mouth like it always, always does when he’s confronted with something more fragile than himself.

  
Jensen’s eyes widen and he flushes, By God he does, tint of blush cycling down his body so quickly that Jared wonders offhandedly if he’s dizzy with it.

  
“W--what did you say?” Jensen says, flexes pale fingers around imported wood. Jared rocks back in his own chair, dick so hard he grits his teeth against what feels like manual strangulation.

  
“You’re fine, Jensen,” Jared says, knocks down every instinct to pull this omega into his lap and grind his monster of a dick into what’s gotta be the pinkest hole he’s ever (not) seen.

  
“Ho--hokay, then,” he breathes, twists those porcelain limbs together and hugs himself tightly, around the middle, and Jared’s taken enough classes to know what that means.

  
He forgets, more often than he should, that he’s a High. They’re a rare, rare category, Lessers and Betas being the most proliferate. 

  
Then there’s ‘megas, soft and biologically non-resilient. Lifespan dramatically reduced due to stature and an almost lack of accelerated healing.

  
They’re about as prevalent as Highs and even Jared’s only met one High outside of his family line, and that’s because his family is responsible for an overwhelming 90%.

  
“What. What subjects do you like?” Jared asks carefully, deliberately spills amber onto his sleeve so there's another pungent scent to focus on.

  
Jensen fiddles with the edge of his napkin and drags it into his lap on instinct, fine tremor of his body that he might not even be aware of.

  
Jared aches to reach out and ground him, press the equivalent of one thumb to his pulse-point.

  
He knows if he makes the right cadence of growl this little flower will keel over without a second thought, hear the command to hold his cheeks wide.

  
“I--I really. I, uh. I like reading. I like t--to read,” Jensen whispers, cuts a glance over to his mother. Nora is engaged in a heated debate with Ackles and Jensen’s father gives his son what seems to be a reassuring wink.

  
Jensen ducks his head in acknowledgement and Jared groans, just a bit.

  
Before the First War of Removal there was no age of consent needed between omega and alpha. It was a horrendous practice, linked together nine year olds with grown-mates, no matter how compatible the scent may have been.

  
The age of consent is fourteen, omega biology disallows them to last without proper knotting past this period.

  
That being said, Removal didn't solve everything. The Second and Third Wars didn't either.

  
Jared’s High and the Law dictates that--well, to put it bluntly, it dictates that he needn't follow that procedure at all.  
Jared can claim anything, take anyone he wants, and he’d be perfectly within his rights.

  
Better to keep a High satiated. From personal experience, he knows they're awfully hard to kill.

  
Jared thinks about that blanket permission, wonders how Nora would survive it if he were to pull sodden pants down her boy’s ankles.

  
“What kind of books?” Jared asks, leans a touch closer so he can hear better.  
Jensen gasps, presses his closed fist to his mouth in an eerie imitation of his father.

  
“C--can you. M-s--sorry, Mr. Padalecki. I'm sorry, b--but can you, can you scoot back? Please?” Jensen looks wild-eyed, verdant-spring and Jared is going to take him.

  
He decides right then and there. It's not a conscious choice but it settles him in some basic, primal way, and he's got to leave this room in the next three minutes.

  
“Something wrong?” Jared teases, so gentle. “What's wrong, sweetheart,” he continues, has to be fine-tipped for this princess.

  
Jensen’s shaking so hard he's rattling the silverware and any second his mother is going to flutter over in outraged concern.  
“I. I uh. I can't t--tell you. I c--can't,” he breathes, and he reaches up a hand to curl in flyaway strands of hair.

  
If Jared peeks under the edge of the tablecloth he can see the obvious blush-swell of boy-sweet dick and it's gonna candy under his tongue.

  
“I'll tell you, then,” Jared says, infuses his voice with latent High Command and Jensen’s legs part like Moses.

  
“You’re slick in your boy-parts,” Jared hisses, scoots his chair back enough to be able to stand.

  
He's got to leave quickly.  
“And you want me to get my hand in there. My dick,” he murmurs, and he watches in perverse fascination as Jensen arches forward, bubblegum mouth open on a gasp.

  
Jared can see his chest go almost concave and there’s the slightest catch of what looks like nipple-drag on expensive cotton and Jared is done.

  
Little Ackles has the sweetest baby-O tits and they're budding, probably unnecessarily painful and it's Jared that's making him bloom.

  
Jared stands all of a sudden and Nora startles, scents all the pheromones Jared abruptly lets loose.

  
Her body goes limp, instantly, almost crouched over her plate and Ackles bares his neck with an instinctive snarl.

  
Fuck. Jesus.

  
Ackles doesn't look angry though, if anything he looks confused, and it's Nora that speaks, voice tremulous at best.  
She sounds apologetic.

  
“This is my fault. Mine,” she says hoarsely, and Jared is at the doorway, refuses to look back even though Jensen is rocking in his seat, small whimpers of want.

  
“He’s. He’s almost fifteen. And he's a late--” she stutters, makes an involuntary sound and presses even further into the table.

  
Jared could rein his scent under control but he'd like to hear her explanation.  
“He’s only had the one heat yet and he can't--J-Jesus,” she stutters, “he can't control his ph-pheromones.”

  
“It would've been fine--he would've been okay, but you. You're a High and I didn't warn you--or him.” She slumps forward, almost into her soup now and Ackles is breathing heavily, hands white-knuckled to his chair.

  
Jensen is almost insensate and Jared can feel the heat emanating off of him in violent waves.

  
“I'm overwhelming him.” Jared states the fact himself and bows his head even though it takes all of his will.

  
He's controlling this entire room and if he really commanded them to do anything they'd be helpless against it.

  
It's not something he utilizes often and the power rush that comes with it buffers more of his scent and the two O’s make suffocating gasps.

  
He's likely to kill Jensen at this rate, too young and untried.

  
He can do that. He can overload the senses and murder someone and this just became less sexy and more frightening.

  
“I'll be in the guest house,” he says, tugs himself back under control with painstaking precision.

  
“Please, send for me once the situation is under control.”

  
Ackles is sweating but he's nodding along, like he knows that Jared’s greedy for his designation but he's also never been this volatile in his life.

  
As he stalks from the room, head bowed, he thinks he might need a new job.

  
-

He wakes up to a splitting headache and the shroud of darkness over his room.  
He knows then that he passed out from the sheer release of power and it unnerves him, the way he let himself loose on an unsuspecting family.

  
It’s not his personal sense of guilt that awakens him, rather it's the inability to control his scent, once again, and this time it's gonna envelope the entire house if he doesn’t tame it.

  
Ackles is amiable now but probably not so much once he realizes his baby-mega is getting slick from a High.

  
He opens his eyes halfway in discomfort and snarls so loudly that the lithe little body before the edge of his bed actually passes out in real time.

  
“Fucking A,” he whispers, even though it's just the two of them and one is now comatose.

  
He scrambles off the California King (one of his few stipulations for being a live-in tutor) and he picks Jensen up in a sudden rush.

  
Soft blond lolls over his forearm and Jared hisses loudly when he finally comes in contact with all that bare skin.

  
The bend of his pliable little spine arches his chest into the air and Jared’s floored to realize that he wasn't mistaken at all.  
Boy’s in soft grey cotton and his chest is tip-tilted back and just. Jared can see the rise and fall of untouched nipples and his dick rises, full mast with the need to fuck this boy into the earth.

  
He can hold him up with one hand, not so much a product of High Alpha strength as it is the fact that little Ackles doesn't weigh more than 80 pounds, if even that.  
There's a fantastic splay of ribs, concave and malnourished and he presses one whole palm to the side of them, digs in with want.

  
Jensen stirs with the pressure and then Jared sits him up with both hands so that he's resting in the crook of his arm like a small child.

  
He's still that, Jared recognizes, infantile and fragile and almost nothing.

  
Jared’s hand has a will of its own and it glides up ribs to the cavity between them and all the way to the right.

  
There's a definite swell there, almost uncovered and Jensen begins to tremble from the way Jared is cupping the smooth flesh.

  
His knot’s about to pop. He grunts with the knowledge and shifts Jensen once more so that those razor-points press against the hard planes of his collarbone.  
Jensen wakes up in that instant, lashes on the hollow of Jared’s throat and Jared squeezes him tightly in anticipation that he’ll try and squirm away and fall to injury.

  
That, he thinks later, is about as far as it gets from what actually happens.

  
Jensen’s eyes open, fawn-slow and then he mewls, makes almost no intelligible sound and squirms so that he's slinging both arms around the trunk of Jared’s neck.

  
He’s bumping the plush of his ass up and down and it’s sliding over the taut stretch of skin that makes up Jared’s forearm.

  
He places his right palm right on the heated small of Jensen’s back and presses down with the tips of his fingers.  
He's quivering so hard he thinks he's about to shift, and that right there is something no one does unless it's on Ceremony.

  
This is gonna be what ends him, and his line.

  
“O--oh, oh, God,” Jared listens, spoon-eats the terrified words from Baby Ackles’ mouth.

  
“I'm sorry. I'm s--sorry, Mr. Mister Padalecki,” he tries, bunches cotton into two fists and Jared bounces that ass with his arm, just because he can.

  
“You were callin,’” he slurs, smears a rosebud-mouth against the side of Jared’s neck.

  
“I could. I c--could sm--smell you,” Jen breathes, all hushed like it's shameful, and Jared can't not have him.

  
“You could?” Jared says, plays stupid because he wants to hear the pale little thing try and talk through the way he’s thrashing in Jared’s hold.

  
“You smelled me, all the way in your room? What, your parents keep you locked up?” Jensen whimpers, high and breathy and Jared feels a strange warmth settling on his arm-skin.

  
“Baby in a tower?” Jared croons, and he can’t resist it, not when Jensen’s pressing those soft little nipples into his chest like they ache.

  
“S--stop, please. Please,” he cries, louder and more plaintive than even at dinner. “Y--you, it h--hurts when you’re not here,” Jensen stutters, forces words out so fast they start to blur together.

  
“My Mama--oh, please,” he breaks off, and Jared realizes with an idiotic sort of grin that Jensen’s leaking all over his arm, so heavily it’s bound to be swallowed by his flesh.

  
“My Mama thought I was--” heavy bounces, ass jiggles and Jared moves his hand from back to just above the crease of strawberry-ripe virgin ass, “t--thought I was,” he repeats, on loop, “ne--never gonna get a heat. Never gonna m-make a pro--proper ‘mega--”

  
Jared’s trying to think, can scent the waves of pain in between the ambush of arousal and he’s got little hope of staunching the unholy noise he lets loose.

  
“You know m’gonna take you tonight,” Jared breathes, and Baby Ackles slumps forward, command-growl robbing him of even the strength to move his sloppy ass.

  
“There’s no changing that,” Jared says, jostles his boy oh-so-careful. “Don’t stop,” he teases, and Jensen tries to damn near eviscerate his own head in the crook of Jared’s neck. “Keep rubbing all that slick on me.”

  
Jensen cries, sits his whole head up and Jared can just make out flushed features, spit-swollen mouth and hungry eyes. The kid looks decadent and Jared’s surprised any Alpha didn’t just press him down onto a surface and takehaveown, right there.

  
Jensen’s mouth drops wide and Jared can see all the way back into that throat-fuck. He’s just raising one finger to pull Jensen’s cheek just a bit wider, rub it around all that spit and boy-sugar, that he almost misses Jen coming against his abdomen.

  
It happens in choppy, stuttered bursts, and he can smell the cookie-scent of him, splattered across Jared’s sleep shirt (another mother-present).

  
“Jesus,” he whispers it into Jensen’s hair and the boy is sending up cries now, and if his family doesn’t already smell what’s happening, they definitely will in a second.

  
“You like that, sweetheart?” Jared says, switches him from right to left arm and glances down at the sheen of lubrication. It’s obscene is what it is and the air surrounding them tastes like honeyed apples.

  
“Answer me,” Jared says, accidentally infuses his voice with latent command and Jensen cripples under the weight.

  
“Guh,” he moans, small frame of hips still churning. “I wanna, Mr--I wanna c--come for you again,” he says, boldly, as harsh as his tiny mouth allows.

  
“That’s right, S’right,” Jared slurs, second-dick-heartbeat raised in his pants. “You're gonna let me take it. You're gonna let me right--in--here,” Jared punctuates each word with a movement forward.

  
He's pressing the O down into his adopted sheets and Jensen surges upwards, scrambles onto boy-virgin knees and latches onto what he can grab of Jared’s waist.

  
His entire front is damp, almost black with the way he's soaked through, and Jared’s never seen anyone that wet, not even grown omegas in the throes of heat.

  
It's probably supposed to say something, he can hear his mother waxing on about compatibility and care and concern but right now this little thing is grabbing for him like he's the beginning and end.  
Which, incidentally, is exactly what Jared wants to be.

  
“Oh, c’mere, baby,” Jared says, more breathless than he would've liked. “You want this? Tell me what you want,” Jared commands.

  
“I don't,” Jensen tries, shivering arms wrapped around Jared’s pelvis, “I never,” he continues, and Jared takes pity on him, doesn’t know how to ask for what he’s about to receive.

  
“You been waiting for me,” Jared says softly, and he gently pries suctioned-arms loose while Jensen mewls and squirms that sopping ass all over his mother’s guest sheets.

  
“M’not letting you go,” Jared soothes, words tumbling out of his sewer-dirty mouth as if they’ve been the ones longing to be free in the first place.  
“Right here, right here,” he adds, and Jensen settles some, rests wet against the heels of his underage feet.

  
Jared’s hands are shaking when he reaches down to break Baby Jensen Ross apart into bite-sized pieces, and he can’t tell if it stems from arousal or the hint of the claim.

  
Jensen reluctantly releases, and he falls backwards on Jared’s bed, little legs splayed open. They’re trembling and he immediately climbs between them, bracing his weight just above the flushed image of Jen’s head.

  
Jensen’s arching that kitten-tipped chest upwards and he’s almost humping the air, he’s so choked for it.

  
Jared’s not a man of teasing unless he’s got a satisfying endgame and Jensen smells like sleep-warmth and sticky-sweet dick.

  
“Please, please,” he chants, vulnerable arch of that riddle-spine and Jared’s thighs are trembling.

  
The boy’s pants are a lost cause and they’re still clinging to pale thighs.  
His whole body is colorless, which is at odds with the overheated shudders emanating from it, and his Baby reaches for him.

  
His knees knock open and Jared wastes no time, drags thumb down the cleft of skin and shoves the digit right on in, saltwater taffy cling.

  
Jensen’s blush of a mouth flies open and so do his eyes (closed tight) and if possible his legs span wider, curls small toes into sheets.

  
“Oh! Oh!” He cries, eyes blinking on the nothing of Jared’s not-space.

  
“Oh, please, d-deeper,” he begs, soft first and then catching speed.

  
“Little wider, baby, c’mon. C’mere,” Jared babbles, soothing and hungry in equal measures.

  
“Gonna be sweet and give this up to me?” Jared withdraws his thumb, punctuates his request with a two fingered slap to his baby’s hole.

  
Jensen keens, grabs at the open curve of his knees and drags his legs wider, air caught in his throat.

  
Jared’s knot pulsates one great time as Jensen can't quite catch hold of his limbs, so slick and wet that they escape his feeble grip.

  
“Oh--oh God,” Jensen cries, face streaked with tears, “I can't--puh--please, do it again, do that again,” Jensen begs and Jared pops his knot.

  
He's got no hope of staunching it, swells to thickness right there in his pants and Christ, Jensen can smell it. Must scent it, the way he starts dripping, shivering in his own wet.

  
“Please.” Jensen says it plaintively and then opens those eyes wide, searches blankly for Jared in the thick of the scent.  
“Do what,” Jared growls, can barely bend at the waist. “Tell me, baby. What do you want from me?”

  
Jared climbs on the bed, brackets Jensen underneath the cage of his body.  
Jensen’s still holding his child-pornography legs wide and his lashes are stuck together on that summer face.

  
“Can you. Will you--sp--spank it?” Jensen’s lower lip is tinged claret with blood and he takes a large breath, rattles his whole frame.

  
“Please, Alpha?” Jensen flushes foal-pink and Jared knows this is the first time he's called someone Alpha with all the appropriate connotation behind it, rather than just as a term of respect.

  
If he hadn't already popped his knot he’d be grinding the meat of it into this boy’s ass right now.

  
“You can have whatever you want, sweetheart,” Jared hisses and he leans down, belatedly missing the precious flush on his O’s face.

  
He spanks it, four swift taps with the pads of two fingers, so sweet and sharp that Jensen’s dick is tilted to the sky and still cream-covered.

  
He whines once, high and feral and then comes all over himself for the second time, hole still flexing and tarnished.  
Jared can't stop, spanks him through the shocks, rocks his body right up toward the headboard.

  
“That's it. That's my baby,” Jared says, hushes him through it and Jensen drops his legs, flings both arms over his too-bright eyes.

  
“M’sorry,” Jensen breathes, “Sorry, Alpha,” he adds, removes his arms just enough to peek at Jared.

  
“Ah, baby,” Jared says, tugs his pants down so that they're just underneath his ass, waistline pushes both knot and dick up so that they're almost eye level to his boy.

  
Jensen visibly shrinks, scrambles away so fast his spine hits the wood.

  
“S’that for. For me?” Jensen says, looks terrified and then his heat takes a sudden wild flare and Jared can smell the uptick, chocolate-drizzle.

  
“First lesson,” Jared says tightly, fists his dick and drags it twelve up to smear his pre-come around the surface.

  
Jensen bites down on his lip, already swirled in spit and blood and smiles, just a little.

  
“Some lesson,” he huffs, “worksheet, quiz and test, all--all in one,” he forces out, stutters only once and turns proud eyes up from Jared’s swollen knot to his face.

  
He’s gripping hard at the base of his dick and Jensen convulses at the sight, smile going pinched with want.

  
“God, you're precious,” Jared says stupidly, can't seem to keep his mouth on track.

  
“Me?” Jensen says, surprised, but he's already flinging his body back so Jared can see the naked shrine of him.

  
Jared wants to focus on where he's gonna slide deep but he can't handle the way Jensen’s nipples are peaked to the sky, almost inflamed.

  
“Yeah, you, baby. Those look painful,” Jared says, and Jensen really does blush, drops his eyes low like he didn't remember they existed.

  
“They're. They're new,” he explains, and Jared watches as he pats at his wet-slop of a hole, and then seems to gather himself, spanks at it pitifully, like he can make himself come.

  
“You keep doin’ that,” Jared says, “and I'll play with these.”

  
Jensen makes a strangled sound, uses his whole hand to slap, tiny fingers pinching at the wrinkle of his entrance.  
Jared doesn't even know how he's gonna knot the boy with Jensen so intent on squeezing him free of come, looking just like sin.

  
Baby’s tits are smaller than the palm of his hand, barely noticeable under clothes unless Jensen’s cold or aroused, but they're so small Jared wants to see them swollen.

  
Fragile things, could be real milk heavy one day, and Jared might end the show, right now.

  
Jensen’s getting louder and Jared leans lower, latches his mouth to the swell of skin and cups the non-excess with his free hand.

  
He can barely get close enough with the way Jensen’s skinny little arm is working between them, wet whimpers leaking from his throat because he can't seem to make it feel like Jared’s bigger hand.  
Jared tugs with his teeth, just tight enough for Jensen to cry out in stunted pain, rolls the nub under tongue and porcelain.

  
He kneads the other with his fingers and flattens his entire palm over that, raises his hand just enough to slap at it, harder than he needs, just to feel Jensen stiffen from where he's trapped between Jared’s abdomen and his own arm.

  
Jared raises his head just enough to see the damage to his O’s right tit, dug in deep with a five-star nail-point.

  
“Ah, ah, ah,” Jensen cries, pitiful. “I can't, I can't, Alpha,” Jensen says, careless with the word, and Jared makes a strangled High-sound and Jensen stops moving altogether, except for shuddered breaths.

  
“Say it again.” Jared says, “I'm the only Alpha you'll ever have, so I want to hear. It. Again.” Jared nips at the other breast, the first raw and sore and Jensen repeats the title over and over, pushes it out with every breath.

  
“Okay, Alpha, okay, Alpha, okay, Alpha,” Jensen continues and Jared finally rears back, if only to hear Jensen better.

  
There's no way Jensen’s mother doesn't smell what's happened by now, no way the whole estate isn't up in arms because Jared is most definitely going to fuck her only child into the ground.

  
“Hold these for me, baby,” Jared directs, “don't let ‘em go,” Jared warns, can't resist the way High curls out of his mouth and settles so perfect on Jensen, twists him pretty.

  
Jensen nods repeatedly under the weight of command and Jared’s got to learn to modulate; Jensen doesn't need much and Frenwell once taught him he could murder with a voice, if he felt like it.

  
He feels like it.

  
There's nothing but need and death in this room and Jensen’s going to give him all of it, or Jared is going to take it in lifeblood.

  
It's not a sobering thought nor a cruel one, it is what it remains and Jensen’s fingers flutter over top of his already bruised breasts, stutter with the pain of it.

  
“Oh--ohkay,” he breathes, tips his neck back dark. “Alpha,” he adds, self-conscious. heat-addled.

  
Jared rubs the edge of his dick, melted crown right up into the hot-fuck of Jensen’s slick. It's the right of the first night and Jensen accepts it unflinchingly.  
“Here it is,” he murmurs, gazes down into the elastic-rose of him and nudges forward, just enough to breach.

  
Jensen swallows him whole.

  
The head pops in with an audible stretch, suctioned so quickly into that warm-moisture that he's dizzy with it.

  
“Please, please don't stop,” Jensen gasps, all the air he has room for.

  
He can't shove in all the way, knot already thick and exposed but he's got to plug his darling full.

  
Jensen raises his legs like a good boy and wraps them around jared’s cut of a waist, never took his pants off.

  
Jared watches in fascination as Jensen's hands rise just above his tits, hover uncertainly like he wants to grab out for his Alpha.

  
“Down,” Jared grits out, because he doesn't know if anyone warned Jensen that during the Claim is when Jared's most likely to kill him.

  
He should've thought to warn Jensen, a passing, “this might kill you,” would've sufficed but he's clouded by a haze of High and he remembers how tenuous this dance is.

  
“Stay where I keep you,” Jared says, infuses his voice with the command and watches in supreme satisfaction as Jensen sags, strangely bruised hands nestled over the ripest parts of himself.  
He hooks Jensen’s legs over the crook of his elbows and uses the leverage to shove forward, and Jensen releases a mewl, silken sound that does nothing good for his blood and his cock.

  
Five inches gone, eviscerated and forever owned by one Jensen Ross.

  
His knot touches the joining of them before Jared’s even halfway impaled and Jensen’s eyes look wide and sightless, mouth wine-dark as he meets Jared’s eyes.

  
“Gonna.” He slurs, hard, “gonna c--come again. Is that--s’that okay? S’all of it?” Jensen asks, trembles like his body can't take one more mile of dick. Not one.

  
“Hold on,” Jared says, and suddenly all he wants to do is feel those hands. “Grab my arms, baby.”

  
Jensen scrambles for him, exposes those nipples to the cool air and they harden on instinct. Jensen shivers with the feeling and Jared knocks him full of maybe a half an inch more as he leans down to blow on the peaks.

  
He can just reach enough to lick, and the tiniest press of the tip of his tongue is enough to send Jensen into convulsions.  
“I want it! I want the rest,” he cries out, plain and loud and now Jared can scent Mrs. Ackles. She smells like confusion tipping into the knowing and there’s an inherent challenge in the transition.

  
“Do you?” Jared says, louder, at this point they all know. Everybody in the vicinity knows that Jared’s rebuilding this ass from the ground up.

  
“I popped my knot,” he admits, grim as his current sin. “Smelled you come again and again,” he says, grinds what's already lodged in his boy so that Jensen’s legs fall somehow wider.

  
“Can't even. Jesus, you're sucking on me,” Jared digresses, mouth shot. “Can't even hold out when you--fuck--when you look like this an’ smell like that,” he says, could keep going but he's not gonna make much sense.

  
Nora is running now, breakneck speed and Jared wants to laugh because he's not A Bad Man but does she ever think she's getting her son back?

  
Jensen will be able to scent his mother soon, if he can concentrate long enough, and right now, all he's doing is humping down into the lackluster inches he's got.  
“P--put it in me anyway,” Jensen says, all that air fucked right on out of him.

“Maybe if you were bigger,” Jared answers, the idea damn near impossible with the size of his virgin hole.

  
“Nah-uh,” Jensen gasps, neckline finally flushed and his pupils are so wide he looks delirious. He's about to pass out from pheromones, Jared sniffs for it and tries his best to dial back.

  
“I saw. I s--saw a thing, one time,” Jensen says, takes a deep breath so he can get it all out in one go.

  
“Y-you can. You can, Alpha, if I h--hold myself, I’ll hold--like. Like this,” he begs, moves those hands lower, skims past hips and sides and comes around to clutch at the raw-blush of his cheeks.  
Jared grunts, hard, growls louder and more potently than he’d like because he's about to bust and he's not even close to being done.

  
“Likethislikethislikethis,” he chants, upturned button nose. His little fingers go white at the tips as he drags himself wide and now Jensen’s panting with exertion.

  
He makes a small punched out sound when Jared takes him at his word and presses forward, unstoppable now that Jensen’s allowing him to have a go.

  
Eight Nine and Ten slot home and Jensen bares his neck. He seems to sense that it's almost time and it's around this moment that Jared starts to hear yelling.

  
“You can't! Oh God, you can't!” That's his mother, pounding small fists and Ackles isn't far behind her, more concern in his aroma than anything else.

  
His knot is verging on uncomfortable and he leans down, wraps both arms around Jensen’s middle, can circle his cage-waist and that lights his hindbrain up with something like protection.

  
“Gonna turn you,” he whispers to his slack-mouthed baby, presses four kisses to the center of his forehead.

  
“You keep pulling yourself open for me, huh?” Jared says, and Jensen’s eyes haven't darted away from his face, not once.

  
“Yes, Alpha,” he whispers, panic in his pores because he can hear his mama crying.

  
He twists Jensen on his dick, corkscrews him really, and Jensen lands with his face pressed to the side, both hands still clinging to slippery flesh.

  
It'll be easier this way and this is how he needs to claim his O for the first time, regardless. Jensen is trembling beneath him, probably some tactile desire to see his face and Jared’s suddenly enraged that the boy’s mother is here, polluting this space with her scent.

  
Ackles is nearby too, calmer, and he seems to be trying to diffuse the situation as best he can.

  
Jensen’s pressing that soft, round ass back in desperation and Jared’s about had enough.

  
“You will get away from the door. You need to go back into your house and stay there until I come and speak with you,” Jared says, unleashes his designation in a way he's rarely permitted himself.

  
“And you will do it now.” The last word snarls loose from his throat and it's instantaneous.

  
They're alone again and Jensen is still and Jared just. Digs his way through the innocence of Jensen’s body with a ferocity that's more than startling, almost frightening.

  
Jensen’s body swallows up his knot and the final two inches with the kind of violence reserved for porn and he opens his bird-baby mouth on a full-body scream.

  
It ruins him.

  
He's meant to stretch for anything Jared wants to give him, benefits of an A-O pairing, but God. Jared nestles his fingers in the nape of jensen’s neck and drags him backwards even though there's nothing left to take.

  
They're instantly tied and Jared manages to pump once, twice, before coming, jerking Jensen’s neck to the side and biting down right on his pulse-point, heartbeat a distant click-click.

  
Jensen falls flat, arch disappearing and he mewls, open-mouthed.

  
Jared worries at the wound with his teeth and then blanches because he just took a mate.

  
He just bound himself to Jensen and he's not yet ever seen the boy outside of the confines of these walls.

  
Jared’s not done yet, would never have come that quickly if he hadn’t been riding the fine line all evening, faced with Jensen-scent and the way his mouth shapes words.

  
Jensen’s motionless and Jared’s heart upticks in concern, completely forgot about what a cataclysmic experience the Bond can be, and Jensen’s just reached maturity.

  
“Fuck. Baby. Sweetheart, look at me,” he mumbles, low enough to be soothing but not enough to agitate. He’s got both palms locked around Jensen’s hips, nothing but a walking bruise now, so far around the circumference that his fingers are a hair’s breadth away from locking together.

  
Jensen makes a small noise and begins to shake, but that’s not exactly an upswing, in Jared’s opinion. “It’s me, huh? C’mon, baby, open your eyes.” It’s violent, the way he feels tethered, and while a great bit of that is the joining, he suspects that it wouldn’t feel like this if it weren’t Jensen.

  
He catches a sense of what Jensen’s mother must feel all the time, this branch-and-leaves creature is hers, and he’s small and breakable and there are people like Jared who mean to do just that.

  
A snarl rips loose from his throat at his own thought and Jensen blinks bleary eyes open, lashes stuck to his cheeks and he smells overwhelmingly of Jared, High Alpha scent that will instinctively warn other off.

  
Jared doesn’t realize he’s practically purring until Jensen’s face flushes and he squirms back on Jared’s knot experimentally.

  
“O--oh,” he says, hauls in as much air as he can with Jared almost crushing him to pieces. Jared rises, just a bit, so that he’s in an almost plank above Jensen’s spine.

  
“I can feel you,” he says in wonderment, flexes that plush little ass one good time and forces some kind of growl out of Jared’s mouth.

  
“S--sorry, Alpha,” Jensen says, quick to apologize as usual, and Jared will break him of that (and just do so in general).  
“You have no idea how good that feels,” Jared answers instead, and Jensen flushes pretty again, spotted with lovemarks.

  
“I know. I k-know you like it,” Jensen whispers, does it again, hesitantly, and then it must catch on his prostate because he starts humping backwards in earnest, rising slightly on his palms so he can grind against the thick swell of Jared’s knot.

  
He’s making punched-out groans, winding his hips like a baby pornstar and Jared may never detach. He’ll keep his sweetheart naked and plugged, legs splayed wide around the press of Jared’s larger ones.

  
“Oh, God. God, f--feels so. Alpha, feels so g-good,” he gasps, all wanton sexual pleasure and Jared presses a palm flat to the small of his back, effectively knocking him back down onto the bedspread.

  
“Get off like that, baby, get yourself off on my knot.” He doesn’t bother commanding, wants Jensen to do what he wants for the sake of wanting it.

  
Jensen bobs that bright-head of his and rubs at the sheets. Jared reaches one hand around, other still braced on the mattress beside Jen’s head. He connects with the softest of tissue, boy-cup of flesh and he kneads it, forces Jensen’s mouth open in desire.

  
“T--touch it, don’ stop, please, hurts, please,” he begs, demanding little boy, and Jared catches hold of one dusky nipple and twists, grunts with the way Jensen’s entire body lurches backwards.  
He tugs at the knot, locked tight in his so-so-so puffy rim, and spills between thread-count and his own heaving stomach.

  
Jared makes a split decision, flips them both so that he’s lying next to the newest wet spot and Jensen looks damn near frightened at having his world shifted so quickly when he’s just come for the third time.

  
He’s shaking atop Jared’s dick, and Jared maintains the splay of hands on his ribcage, even as he settles his boy down so that he’s astride Jared like a saddle.

  
Jared can see the shine of Jensen’s neck, already purpling over with claim and he knows if he licks it clean he’ll be able to speed up Jensen’s healing process but he’s too fond of the desecration.

  
He’ll do it if Jensen expresses any pain, but right now the boy’s raising his arm and tapping fondly around the site, looks down shyly at Jared and rocks forward just enough to be able to rest open palms on Jared’s pectorals.

  
He tugs on the knot that way, and Jared hisses at the strain. Jensen’s blinking slowly, exhaustion settling in, and Jared will twist and cocoon him as soon as his body gives out.

  
“Mr. Padalecki?” Jensen says slowly, mouth widening on a yawn and Jared’s almost too focused on the imperceptible sway of his small chest.

  
“Yes, baby?” Jared says softly, outlines his ribcage with one wandering finger.  
“Can I. Do you think I could maybe call you J-Jared, now?” Jensen doesn’t look at him as he asks, presumably more focused on the way he’s split open on High dick and Jared can’t help but laugh, shoves up even further into the boy.  
Jensen’s eyes widen with the increased penetration and Jared can’t stop chuckling.

  
“Anything you want,” Jared says seriously, honestly, and Jensen bares his neck without conscious thought.

-

He leaves Jensen in his rooms the next morning, tucks sheets around his shoulders and bends down to scent him, covers him in a routine claim like he’s seen his father do to his mother a thousand times.

  
Jensen arches into it, twists onto his tummy and Jared can’t help but reach underneath the comforter to run a casual hand up the slope of his ass.

  
He dips his fingers into the crease, just to feel the mixture of come and slick and he can feel himself reaching full-mast without much provocation.

  
He leaves an offhand command with staff to not disturb his mate and the ease to which he’s fallen into High Alpha should be more disconcerting.

  
As it is, he’s accustomed to his father behaving in this manner and he’s going to need every ounce of his stature to get through this meeting with the Ackles.

  
Nora is sitting in the foyer, sleep clothes intact like she settled into this chair and didn’t dare move. Ackles, on the other hand, is dressed, sipping at what smells like cognac, and smiling amiably as soon as Jared is close enough to scent.

  
Jared ignores Nora for the time being, strides up to Ackles and holds out his hand.

  
“Please accept my apologies,” Jared says stiffly, willfully attempting to ignore the twinkle in Ackles’ eye. “Had I known that this would have happened, I never would have accepted this position.” Ackles’ brow raises and Jared plunges ahead.

  
“That being said, I don’t regret what’s been done.” The deference he’s showing a Lesser rankles in his blood but he curbs it because he can and he owes this man that much respect after what’s transpired.

  
“I would take your son again, and there’s nothing on earth that could stop me, quite honestly,” Jared says, halfway to rueful, and Ackles laughs outright, booming.

  
“The way you acted when you first scented him,” Ackles says, “I would’ve expected nothing less. Can’t say I was ready for the smell to flood my whole house,” Ackles says wisely, tugs at his collar, scented loss of virginity last evening.

  
“I won’t hold it against you, Jared.” Ackles nods to himself like he’s done a Good Thing and Jared has yet to deal with the greater of two evils.

  
Nora smells strangely blank, and her hands are clutching her thighs.

  
Ackles nods in her direction and gracefully leaves the room, reminds Jared of his own father. Tactful.

  
“I never should have trusted you,” she says, the first outright sense of impropriety he's witnessed from her.  
Jared is taken aback by the forthrightness and he growls in warning.

  
Her neck flips up and back and she makes some kind of strangled sound in her throat at the response.

  
“I came into your home with nothing but my good name,” he says disparagingly, “and the hopes that I'd make a good tutor for your son. My omega.”

  
He can't resist the jab and Nora makes a strange sound at the ownership.

  
“I've got just as many manners as you, if not more, because my mother believed in making sure I knew how to be a man first, High Alpha second.”

  
Jared wants to stop talking but can't seem to, holds his breath even though Nora won't interrupt.

  
“I would've disappointed her with how I've behaved,” he admits, thinks of his omega-fresh mate and clenches his fists in agitation at not seeing him.

  
“But I haven't done anything outside of fate and biology,” he presses and Nora stands, even though it seems to cost her to do it.

  
“You think I won't fight this. You think because you have his last name and his blood that you're. You're untouchable,” she hisses, blood-warm.

  
“I've got money too. I know people. I'm not going to let you take him.” She stalks closer with every word and Jared has to remember that Jensen would be immeasurably hurt if he were to rip his mother to pieces.

  
“You won't ever care about him. Not really,” he says, and Jared finds that he's shaking, and his pheromones have her legs near to buckling.

  
He's this close to asking her why again, taking her down a peg, but he catches a scent of warm caramel tempered by his own pine and he knows Jensen’s behind him.

  
“J--Jared?” He hears, deference to Alpha first, always him now.

  
“When I woke up you were gone,” Jensen explains, and Jared turns fully to face him, finds him wearing one of Jared’s sleep shirts and not much else, arms wrapped around those nipples and his chest.

  
He's shaking with cold and exhaustion and Jared crosses over to him in two strides and scoops him up, propriety be damned.

  
Jensen makes a pleased hum and then seems to ignore his mother as he nuzzles into Jared’s neck.

  
“S’alright, baby,” Jared hushes him, “you can come find me anytime.” It's as much for Jensen’s benefit as Nora’s, and Jensen startles, notices his mother for the first time, blushes salmon.

  
“I'm sorry, Mama,” he whispers, “his. H--his scent. I was following his scent,” he explains, tucks closer and Nora’s eyes finally spill over.

  
“I promise you,” she says, turns to leave the room, ignores her only child. “I promise.”

  
Jensen shudders twice and Jared clasps the back of his head.

 

 

 


End file.
